


Noticing Her

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Memories, season 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:31:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't remember when she started noticing her, until it was all she did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noticing Her

She doesn't remember when she started noticing her, until it was all she did. She saw her before, of course. She laughed with her, whispered with her, fought with her. She dragged her to the mall and in turn got dragged into the woods at ungodly hours. She wiped the tears from her eyes and held her hand and did everything with her. They were best friends. Of course she saw her. 

But she never _looked_ at her. Not this way, not with eyes that lingered far too long, not with a deep _want_ that had somehow, unknowingly to her, consumed her whole being—a constant thrum under her skin that pulsed every time she looked at her. A want that compelled her to reach out and touch her, to sit as close as possible, to stroke dark hair, to brush legs together as they walked. Touches that happened at random and much too often. Touches that perhaps inspired curious glances but always coaxed out a smile. A warm, private smile which was always meant for _her_ and no one else.

Those smiles always filled her with warmth and hope. Each dimpled grin made her heart skip a beat, they made her _flush._ No one had ever managed to coax out a blush from her stone cold façade before, and from the way Allison grinned at her, perhaps she knew. 

It was confusing and strange, and for the first time in her life it was something that Lydia didn’t understand. She understood pages of archaic Latin more than she understood Allison Argent. 

And one day when Allison hooked arms with her and leaned in close, tickling Lydia’s ear with her hair as she whispered some witty comment, voice full of suppressed laughter, Lydia _knew_. It was embarrassing, really, how long it had taken her to figure out. That warm feeling she felt whenever she was near Allison, that sensation of falling through open air (yet always knowing there was someone waiting to catch her), she finally understood it. And it was stupid really, so entirely ridiculous; especially considering the fact that Lydia couldn’t recall when it had happened, and Lydia knew _everything_. 

She was in love with Allison. She was in love with her so much that it _hurt._ And every second spent near her, although filled with joy from her presence, was also filled with longing and pain, for her hands ached to reach out and hold her but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because Allison didn’t feel the same way; Lydia was sure. Of course Allison loved her, but not _that_ way. She didn’t want to trace all the soft and sharp curves of Lydia’s body, she didn’t want to press bruising kisses against her mouth or curl up against her at night like Lydia wanted her too. And the possibility of losing her was more terrifying than never being able to know what those things were like, so Lydia didn’t dare speak a word. 

But maybe she might have, when summer dragged on and only seemed to drag them closer and closer. There was never time though, they were always fighting one battle after the next, always stringing together the clues just in time, always coming out victorious. 

Though sometimes when Lydia looked at Allison during their walks in the woods to practice archery, or those endless nights driving in the car, she caught her looking at Lydia. She caught Allison in the times when her guard was dropped, and she thought she might have seen the same hunger in her eyes reflected back at her.

But there never was any time to talk about what that look meant. Whenever things seemed to calm down a bit, there was always a new monster to be fought, and fight it they did. Allison and Lydia prevailed together, always managed to survive, until one time, they didn’t.

The exact moment Allison died, Lydia felt it. She felt the excruciating pain of the sword in Allison’s stomach like it was her own. And then deep in her bones came a sudden emptiness. Absence. A wholeness she had never noticed before, suddenly lost. She was void. 

And it ached, and it burned, and she remembers screaming Allison’s name, not just the banshee scream, but a scream of grief and horror, shuddering with tears. _No no, it can’t be. I never got to tell you. I never got to tell you. Please don’t leave me alone. I lo-_

*

**

***

Standing alone at Allison’s grave one night, Lydia allowed herself to remember her, the first time since her death. The way her eyebrows knitted in deep concentration when she fired an arrow (it always hit the target). The faint scent of lilac in her hair. How soft her hands were. The way those hands moved; the graceful movements always caught and entranced Lydia, even as they gripped twin daggers or reloaded a gun with perfect precision (especially then). How kind she was, always too kind to Lydia, even when she didn’t deserve it. How brave she was, how she died fighting to protect those she loved.

Then, the ever consuming grief she kept hidden, came pouring out. She didn’t deserve to die. Oh god, she didn’t. Lydia nearly choked as the unfairness of it all hit her, accompanied by bitter anger. Anger at herself for failing to protect Allison because she _knew_ she was going to die, and she still hadn’t stopped it. 

And though she tried to ignore it, because she felt so incredibly guilty for feeling this way, Lydia was angry at Allison. Angry for leaving her all alone, for being the only person Lydia could trust, for being the only one in a long time who would talk to her like a real person, not like some sort of god. Angry at Allison for _abandoning_ her when she needed someone the most. God, why did she have to be such a self-sacrificing idiot, why did she have to be there that day.

And finally, after nearly an hour, an hour of pain and grief and anger, came acceptance. And she let herself say it for the first time.

Kneeling in front of Allison’s grave, Lydia broke the silence.

“I love you, Allison.”


End file.
